


Find Our Backbone

by ForeverChasingDreams



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Harry-centric, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, OT5 Friendship, Surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:23:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2213961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForeverChasingDreams/pseuds/ForeverChasingDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's back pain is something they've all known about, really, for as long as they've been a band. It's never been a thing, you know? Until now. Until there are X-Rays sitting in front of them and a diagnosis reverberating around the room, and a decision to be made. </p><p>Or if Harry's back pain was due to adolescent idiopathic scoliosis, and how they deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Find Our Backbone

**Author's Note:**

> Based upon the experiences of one of my closest friends, who has suffered with adolescent idiopathic scoliosis for many years and just recently had the surgery for it. I've done some research on top of this, but I make no claim that all of this is accurate. Take all medical aspects with a pinch of salt.  
> Warnings for swearing, medical crap and hospitalisation, as well as discussions of surgery.  
> This is AU, obviously. Harry has never explained his back problems, and I do not claim this is real. Please don't bring this to the attention of anyone linked to 1D.

Harry’s back pain is something all of them have known about from way back on the X Factor, when Harry would swallow down paracetamol before some performances just to be able to jump around. It’s never been an issue, not really, as Harry deals with it quietly and gets massages when he needs to, and the other four of them watch him carefully to make sure he doesn’t overdo it. It’s not a _thing,_ not until now.

Louis sees the X-Rays one day when he’s lazing on Harry’s sofa on a rare day off, back in London. Harry is showering, grumpy at being woken up even if it is nearly lunchtime. Louis has this innate curiosity, see, and he can’t help but wander over to the plain brown envelope with the red _Do Not Bend_ instruction on it, sitting on Harry’s table.

He’s not nosy, he tells people. Inquisitive. That sounds better, doesn’t it?

 _Curiosity killed the cat,_ people always say, and he can’t help but think, _satisfaction brought it back_ even if the retort is childish.

So he unsticks the envelope, pleased to see it has already been opened – because Harry may be slow, but he does notice things – and slides the contents out. There’s a boring letter on the front, and he scowls at the tiny black printed writing and flicks to the next pages. These – these are X Rays, he realises, even though he’s never seen them in person before. He squints, twists them round, and decides they show a spine, the white discs interlocking up someone’s back.

 _Now,_ he’s definitely curious. He looks back at the letter again, notices its addressed to a Mr Styles from some fancy sounding doctor practice in London, and starts to wonder why Harry had his back X-rayed. If it had become a _thing_ , Harry would have told them, wouldn’t he? Even just mentioned something to Louis in passing, like _my back’s still hurting, I’m going to get it checked out_. Because Harry’s always refused, before now. He’s insisted it’s just something stupid, from uneven legs or a bad paper round or just crappy genetics, even when they all fuss over him in concern after long painful concerts.

Louis skims the letter, complicated words jumping out at him and he scowls, wishing he hadn’t flunked Biology at GCSE. It’s definitely Harry’s spine, he finds out, and he guesses from subtle hints in the letter that Harry’s had quite a few appointments with this guy? woman? He can’t tell from the name. There’s a little bit at the end, asking Harry to book another appointment to discuss ‘further treatment options’. Louis doesn’t like that; it sounds ominously serious, and Louis has an aversion to anything remotely so.

Harry exits the shower then, a towel wrapped around his waist and yawning widely. “Where’s my tea?” he asks on autopilot, and Louis has a split second to decide whether to try and hide what he’s been doing or fess up.

He chooses the latter, because he’s a curious little shit and is pretty secure in the knowledge that Harry is awful at being angry.

“Make your own,” he retorts first, watching as Harry ambles into the kitchen, looking half asleep still. “What’s with the X-Rays?”

Harry seems to freeze for a short moment, before moving forward again, his back slightly tense but his voice, when it comes, deceptively light.

“You’re always telling me to get my back checked out,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. He fills the kettle with water, pressing the button down and watching it light up as it starts to boil the water. Louis waits, head cocked. Harry thinks slow, talks slow, and to get his actual thoughts patience is required.

And _yes,_ Louis is capable of that once in a while. He has grown up a little, at the age of twenty-two.

“Doctor wanted to confirm a diagnosis with an X-Ray,” Harry explains quietly, his back turned to Louis as he grabs two cups and puts a couple of teabags in the teapot. Louis’ struck for a moment. Diagnosis. It sounds so real, and so like there might actually be a problem, an issue with Harry’s back that can’t be laughed off or ignored after a painkiller.

“And?” Louis says, unable to wait for Harry to be willing to speak up again. “What diagnosis, Haz?” His voice is tenser than he wanted it to be, and he tries to smile to lighten the words.

Harry turns to face him slowly, eyes dark and considering. “Didn’t you,” he begins gradually, “you know, read the letter too?”

Louis shrugs, and tells him, “Well yeah, but the words were a bit long, mate, I didn’t really get any of it.”

Harry nods, face still. “I have scoliosis,” he says, and Louis feels threads of fear snake through him, because even if he doesn’t know what the word means, he knows it can’t be good, no problem to do with the back is _good_ , because you have nerves there, he thinks, and you can get paralysed or something or-

He reigns in the panic, tells himself to look at Harry. The boy is watching him, occasionally turning back to stir the teapot or pour milk into the cups, and he looks healthy, is the thing. Strong, even.

“What’s that?” Louis asks eventually, moving to stand next to Harry and picking up his tea when Harry pours it. “Doesn’t sound fun.”

Harry shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “S’not.”

“Sooo?” Louis questions – he’s not whining, thank you, he’s not – unable to deal with Harry’s wandering mind at the moment. “What is it?”

“It’s like,” Harry pauses, moving one hand to rest on his hip, “my spine, you know, it doesn’t grow quite right? Like, it’s sort of curved instead of being straight, that sort of thing.”

“Curved?” Louis repeats, because it doesn’t sound good, but then again, what could a slight curve do? He’s never noticed it before, can’t really get the problem, but it’s a thing, apparently, so he probably ought to listen to Harry’s explanation.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, biting his lip. “So it’s been kind of hurting, near to where the curve is, and the muscle around it and stuff. It’s not that rare, you know, I don’t think. I just never got anyone to look at it.”

Louis stares. Harry looks normal, in front of him, still wrapped in a towel and gorgeous enough that Louis can appreciate it even if he is one hundred per cent straight and very happy with Eleanor.

“Right,” Louis says awkwardly. “Is that- a problem, or something? Are you going to do something about it?”

Harry lets out a breath, shrugging again. “Don’t really know,” he answers flatly, and Louis gets the impression that Harry isn’t as blasé with this as he’s pretending. He kind of thinks maybe he should be reassuring Harry here, but he doesn’t really know what’s going on or anything, so it’s a bit difficult to be honest-

Liam, he thinks suddenly. Liam would know what to do!

“So, are you going to tell the others?” Louis asks, potentially interrupting Harry relating his next appointment agenda to Louis, caught up in his own plans.

Harry looks at him carefully. “I haven’t thought about it,” he admits, and Louis glares, hands on hips, and tuts.

“You should,” he says firmly. “How are we supposed to help otherwise?”

“Help with what?” Harry asks, his face slightly confused, and Louis waves it off.

“I’ll tell them for you, if you want,” Louis suggests, already thinking through the discussion with Liam and the brainstorming they could do – no, wait, his mum had told him brainstorming was no longer politically correct, what was it now? Brain-mapping? Something like that-

 _Off topic, Louis_ , he tells himself.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Harry reassures him. “I think I’ll tell them, though I wasn’t really planning on telling you either, to be honest.”

Louis scowls, hugging him tightly suddenly and blanking out Harry’s curse as his tea is knocked and spills down his boxers. “Thanks, Louis,” Harry mumbles sarcastically.

Louis is very well practiced at ignoring complaints. “You’re an idiot,” he says instead. “You should tell us _everything_. Except maybe your sex life, Haz, ‘cause I really never needed to know that about Swifty-”

“Oh, God, shut _up,_ ” Harry groans, turning red, and Louis smirks.

“You’re the one who put the image in my head,” he protests, and Harry had, drunk one night after hooking up with Taylor the night before. Louis had never, ever, needed that description of exactly what the pop princess looked like when Harry-

No, no, bad image, stop.

“I’ll tell them tomorrow,” Harry says, bringing the conversation back. “And- you know, thanks,” he finishes haltingly, and Louis throws himself at the younger boy again, once more ignoring the muffled swear words as Harry scrambles to place the tea somewhere safe.

“You’re very, very welcome,” Louis sings in Harry’s ear.

Harry laughs, the sound constrained by Louis’ hair and head and body, but Louis feels the vibrations nonetheless and smiles, secretly, to himself.

 

***

 

They meet at the studio the next morning, Louis getting there bright and early – okay, so he’s a few minutes late, but he picked up tea and coffee along the way so he should totally be forgiven, yeah?

He walks into their main room, dumping a bag and brandishing the drinks with the other hand.

“I come bearing gifts!” he announces, looking around at the lads. Zayn’s sprawled over a sofa, asleep already, whilst Liam and Niall are discussing something funny, bending over Liam’s phone together, the contrast between the two striking. And Harry’s . . . somewhere, Louis’ sure.

Zayn doesn’t look up at Louis’ words.

“Wicked,” Niall says loudly, leaving Liam alone to snatch a coffee off Louis. “Thanks, mate.”

Louis hands out the drinks around the room, leaving one balanced precariously on Zayn’s head with a smirk. Liam rolls his eyes at him but doesn’t comment, and Louis loves how much they’ve managed to corrupt him over the years.

“Where’s Haz?” Louis asks, slumping down on a chair next to Liam and Niall. “Is he late?”

Liam shakes his head. “Was here,” he answers absently, still scrolling down his phone. Louis leans closer, curious despite himself. It looks like a text conversation, and Louis huffs, snatching the phone when Liam’s not expecting it and dancing away.

“Pay attention to me,” he whines. Liam gets up, mock glaring at Louis.

“Give it back,” Liam warns, but Louis just moves further away.

“Not until you tell me where Hazza is,” Louis bargains, continuing to back away as Liam prowls closer, cracking his knuckles. Niall is laughing at them from the floor, and Louis grins at him.

The moment of distraction costs him, because Liam moves then, jumping at him and trying to grab the phone. Louis reacts quickly, wriggling away with a shout and running for freedom. He’s making a good get away when Liam leaps again, and Louis falls over as Liam’s weight pushes into him. He’s not sure whether he’s going to face plant on the floor and he cries out-

-but lands on the sofa instead, halfway across a sleeping Zayn and Louis watches in delight as the coffee on Zayn’s head wobbles and falls.

Liam snatches the phone back with a victory yell, but Louis is too busy pissing himself at the expression on Zayn’s face when he’s abruptly woken up by hot coffee on his face.

“What the fuck?” Zayn growls, his eyes blinking open and already forming a glare. “Louis, what is on my face?”

Louis is laughing way too hard to even form words, rolling off Zayn and onto the floor. Niall is cracking up too on the other side of the room, while Liam can’t seem to decide whether to laugh or help Zayn. A tech miraculously finds a towel from nowhere and hands it to Zayn, who is looking more and more murderous by the second.

The door opens then, and Harry wanders in, a bag over his shoulder. He looks around. “Where’s my tea?” he demands, then, “Why’ve you got coffee on your face, Zayn?”

Louis can’t breathe.

 

***

 

They break for lunch at the same time on this particular day, and Louis drags them all somewhere private to eat, away from the rest of the team. Harry looks resigned when Louis grabs onto his arm, and Louis guesses he knows why he’s separated them all. The others go along with it with barely a sigh, too used to Louis’ stupid schemes to question his actions any more.

They settle in an empty studio, Harry and Louis on one sofa, Zayn curled up in an armchair and Liam and Niall sitting on another sofa.

“Spit it out, then, Tommo,” Zayn says with a scowl on his face. So maybe he still hasn’t forgiven Louis for the earlier stunt, but seriously, the coffee had hardly been that hot.

Louis nods, looking at Harry. The younger boy has his knees pulled up to his chest and isn’t looking at anyone. He’s nervous, Louis knows. It’s stupid and ridiculous and Louis loves him for it.

“Haz?” he questions quietly, and Harry breathes out.

“I went to the doctor about my back,” he says slowly, and Louis can see the other three pay attention to him suddenly.

“And?” Liam asks, and his tone is anxious – the worrier, Louis thinks fondly.

“So, I have this thing? With my back?” Harry tells them. “It’s called scoliosis, basically, and like, my spine isn’t quite straight. It’s more, sort of, curved.”

Louis watches as Liam frowns, while Niall and Zayn look more confused than anything.

“Is that, like, a problem?” Niall asks, and he’s not being rude or insensitive, he just doesn’t really get it. Louis doesn’t properly understand, either, but he’d been too surprised yesterday to contemplate anything other than _get Liam to deal with it_.

Liam’s not really taking charge here though, and Louis tries to stare him into submission. That doesn’t work either.

Harry shrugs. “It’s why my back hurts,” he says. “Because it pulls my muscles and stuff with it, I think? Nothing’s really aligned right, see, and one side gets really painful and the spine’s just not designed to be twisting.”

It’s maybe the most honest Harry’s ever been about the pain he lives with all the time, and Louis is kind of sad to be hearing it, but it’s nice that Harry’s opening up, too. He presses closer to his side, trying to convey comfort through touch alone.

“What are you going to do about it?” Liam cuts in, and Louis sighs in relief. Here comes Daddy Direction, he thinks.

“I don’t know,” Harry says. “Carry on with physiotherapy, definitely. And massages and stuff. But I’ve got to meet with my doctor again to, like, talk about long term options.”

Liam nods. “Okay,” he agrees, “that sounds fair.”

“What sort of long term options are we talking, here?” Zayn asks, tilting his head.

Harry fidgets with his hands. “I’m not really sure,” he answers hesitantly. “There’s some sort of brace thing, I think, but I’m too old for it to work properly, he said. Or there’s surgery, or just leaving it alone.”

“Surgery?” Louis asks sharply, because the immediate picture of a knife cutting into Harry’s spine makes him feel cold. He’s not a scientist, was never good at school, but he knows the importance of the spine. There’s a fuck load of nerves there, and people can end up paralysed if they get messed with.

He doesn’t want Harry to get surgery. Maybe that’s selfish, because he’s not the one who has to live with the back pain all the time and the constant physio and massages and crap, but Jesus, the thought of surgery scares the absolute shite out of him-

\- “It has to be pretty severe for that,” Harry tells him, and Louis _breathes_ again. “But I don’t know,” he continues. “My doctor said something about measuring the angle of my spine and then discussing options.” He shrugs. “I have another X-Ray next week, and then an appointment a week after that.”

“Okay,” Liam says calmly. “And in the meantime? Is it going to mean any changes?”

Harry shakes his head. “I have prescription painkillers now,” he answers with a grin. “But no, not really. I have to be careful with what I carry and stuff, and not strain my back, but it’s basically what I was doing before.”

Louis thinks he should be making a joke right about now, loosening the tension, easing the atmosphere, moving the conversation on, but he just wraps an arm around Harry carefully and pulls Harry down to rest on his shoulder. He goes without a fight, and Louis leans his head on Harry’s, breathing in his shampoo. Zayn gets up and joins them on the other side.

It’s kind of peaceful, until they get called back in to record.

 

***

 

Louis kind of forgets about it fairly quickly, and that’s maybe awful and really sort of selfish of him, but Harry doesn’t ever make a fuss about these kind of things and so it’s not like Louis is reminded daily of it. Eleanor comes to stay with him for a few days and they spend the time either curled up on the sofa, in bed, or out taking gentle walks or shopping around London. It’s as easy as breathing, being with El, and he loves her all the more for it. She never pushes him for more than he can give, and is always there after a day of recording to sit down and watch a crappy TV programme.

His relationship with Harry – platonic, no matter what some fans believe – is harder. Harry doesn’t give a lot away, is the thing. He’s bright and cheerful and so open with everyone that it’s easy to forget that Harry isn’t the plastic pop star he makes himself out to be. Louis doesn’t even think he does it on purpose. It’s just part of who he is; he doesn’t know how to reach out with people and confess if something bothers him. Seeking comfort from anyone but his mum is not part of Harry.

Louis loves him just as much as he loves El, but he has to work for a deeper connection with Haz – and maybe he appreciates it all the more for it.

So he sort of forgets about Harry’s next appointment with his orthopaedic doctor until Liam brings it up one day at tour rehearsals. Harry’s been quiet all day, hunching over when he thinks no one is looking, and Louis is sure the rest of the lads are as concerned as him.

“Hey, Harry,” Liam starts when they’re all taking a break, sitting slumped at the side of the studio. “How’d your back appointment go?”

Harry doesn’t look at any of them, and Louis edges closer. “My spine has an angle of forty six degrees,” he says flatly, and Louis exchanges looks with the others. They don’t know what this means, but clearly Harry does, and it’s probably not good, either.

“Is that bad?” Niall hedges, and Harry barks out a dry laugh.

“Yeah,” he says tiredly, and that’s it. Louis wraps an arm around him, and sees Zayn shoot Liam a helpless look out of the corner of his eye.

“What are you going to do about it?” Louis asks gently, looking at the blue-black circles under Harry’s eyes and his unwashed hair. It’s been bothering Harry, clearly.

Harry shrugs. “Live with it,” he says, and there’s a definite undercurrent of anger there. “Not much else I can do.”

“What about surgery?” Liam checks, his expression worried.

Harry shakes his head. “That’s what my doctor wants,” he admits, “but when exactly do I have time for that?”

Niall frowns. “I had mine,” he points out. “You’d have to wait until after the tour and stuff, Haz, but you could.”

“Yeah, and yours took, what, two months to recover?” Harry retorts. “This isn’t knee surgery, Niall, it’s on my fucking spine.”

Louis runs a hand soothingly up his arm, surprised at the outburst. Harry doesn’t get angry, really. He keeps it inside and bottles it up and expels it the only way he knows how – through singing and performing and working out.

“How long will you need off?” Liam asks, his voice calm and his expression concerned.

“I’d be in hospital for upwards of a week,” he answers quietly. “Then on light exercise a month after that. I wouldn’t be able to perform properly for maybe up to six months after the operation.”

Louis lets out a breath. Harry’s right; it’s a hell of a lot of time to take off. Management wouldn’t be impressed, and it wouldn’t be an option definitely until after this tour.

“What happens if you don’t have the op?”

Harry shrugs again, but Louis can feel the tension that he doesn’t show in the unaffected gesture. “The pain stays,” he says, but Louis senses there’s more to the answer than what he speaks.

“And?” Louis prompts gently. “It may get worse,” Harry tells them, fidgeting with his sleeves. “So I might not be able to perform sometimes anyway. And there’s always the risk that it’ll twist too much and will, like, cause problems internally. To my organs and stuff.”

“Jesus fuck,” Niall says faintly, and Louis feels sick. Harry sounds so blasé about it all, unbothered by the fact that this back condition could, by the sounds of it, threaten his life.

“Is that- likely?” Liam asks hesitantly, his voice as shocked as the others seem to feel. “Will it happen soon?”

“Shouldn’t,” Harry says tiredly, leaning against Louis. “Hasn’t been that bad, but I’ll need to get it X-rayed more often to find out if it’s going to get worse quickly.”

“So what are you going to do?” Louis wants to know, breathing in the scent of Harry’s shampoo and wishing he could make this all go away. They’re young – too young to be dealing with twisted spines and damaged organs, too young even for Niall’s dodgy knee and Liam’s stupid kidney.

“I don’t know,” Harry admits quietly, and it’s maybe the most honest he’s been about his emotions all night. “I don’t, like- I’ve been kind of not thinking about it.”

Louis feels as lost as Harry sounds, too caught up in the horror of it all to think rationally, doesn’t know how he can protect Harry from his own body. Harry’s the baby of the band, the little one, the fuzzy curly one who gives all he can to the world who in return lets him have the life he dreamed of. He’s the one who goes out on days off to feed the homeless, who donates more money than Louis’ sure he knows of to charities who catch his eye.

And this is how his body repays him? By granting him a fucked up spine and a chronic back problem at the age of twenty? Thanks, world.

“I’ll come with you,” Louis says out loud, unable to express his thoughts any other way. Liam’s cocked his head at him, and _oh_ , okay, that sentence didn’t mean much sense at all out of context. “To your next appointment, I mean,” Louis clarifies, and Harry looks at him then, the first time he makes eye contact the whole way through the conversation.

“You don’t need to,” Harry says slowly, but Louis thinks there is an undercurrent of gratefulness underneath the words, and he shakes his head.

“I want to,” Louis replies firmly, and Liam is nodding along.

“It’s a good idea, Haz,” Liam agrees.

Harry nods.

It’s not a solution, not even close, but Louis hopes that Harry at least knows now that he doesn’t have to do it alone. There’s five of them, best friends and brothers and everything in between, bound together in a world that spins out of control, and in the middle?

There’s just Harry and Louis, and that’s okay.

 

***

 

Life kind of drifts on, for a bit. Harry struggles in rehearsals one day, lines deepening in his face as pain tightens him up, but Louis isn’t the only one to notice. Zayn negotiates a day off from rehearsing and they go back to recording for the rest of the week instead. Niall grabs Harry his painkillers from his bag and a bottle of water, and Louis drags him next to him to sit on the sofa, wrapping himself around the younger boy as if he could absorb the pain from him by osmosis

\- he’s dimly aware that osmosis doesn’t actually work like that, but hey, irrelevant right now –

while Liam hovers like the mother hen he is. Louis notices the tenseness in Harry’s body start to fade, and his eyes begin to slip closed. Louis rubs his hand through his curls soothingly, humming a melody he doesn’t remember the name of and waiting for Harry to be okay again.

 

***

 

He is. Most of the time Harry doesn’t let them see. Louis catches glimpses of him knocking back a painkiller in the mornings, or massaging his back when he thinks no one is watching. He sees the winces when he stresses his back dancing, and he knows when Harry disappears off on breaks that he’s going to do physio or something similar.

Louis wants to scream at him that they’re a family, the five of them, and Harry doesn’t have to squirrel away his pain or covet it like it’s a treasure instead of a curse.

He keeps quiet though, and shows it through gentle hugs and loud teasing. It’s the way they are.

 

***

 

Harry tells him the morning of the appointment, drops it into conversation as if he doesn’t quite believe Louis was being serious when he said he would come and wants to give him an out.

Louis says, “Cool, I’ll pick you up at five to?” and laughs when Harry nods, surprised, because Harry is many things but confident in his own worth he is not – not when it comes down to it, when he feels he doesn’t have to hide his insecurities away.

So Louis says goodbye at the end of rehearsals, has a quick snooze on the sofa that he wouldn’t admit to if anyone ever asked, because he’s not _old_ thank you, just hard working, and picks Harry up exactly on time. Mostly.

“So where are we going?” Louis asks cheerfully as Harry buckles himself in. The younger lad gives him an address slowly, and Louis plugs it into the SatNav, glancing at it to ascertain which direction he needs to go first.

“Is this, like, a check-up or . . .?” Louis trails off. He doesn’t actually know what Harry’s going for, hadn’t brought it up earlier, he’d just known that Liam had gone with Niall to some of his appointments and Zayn had gone with Liam when Liam went to check on his hopefully still functioning kidney, and now it was Louis’ turn.

Harry shrugs. “X-ray first,” he says. “They’ll check the angle again, and then she’ll probably try and persuade me to have the op.”

Louis scowls. He can’t make up his mind. Harry needs the op, he thinks, and he doesn’t want the lad to live with the pain he currently is, but the thought of it is scary beyond imagining, and he can’t even think about what Harry must feel about it.

“Maybe you should, Haz,” Louis says quietly, seriously – not too seriously, mind, he has a reputation to preserve.

“I don’t know,” Harry tells him, and his voice is as sharp as it ever gets, and Louis lets it drop.

“How’s the Kardashian, then?” he asks instead, voice light and teasing.

“We broke up, arsehole,” Harry retorts, but there’s a smile in his voice that Louis knew would appear, because it was amicable, the break up, and never really meant anything in the first place.

_“Bit of fun,” Harry had called it with a shrug when Louis had asked about the rumours. “It’s not going anywhere.”_

“Don’t know why you let her go,” Louis says with a faked sigh. “Such a beautiful bum.”

“Not as good as yours,” Harry tells him, reaching across to pinch at the top of Louis’, and Louis yelps loudly.

“Driving, Haz, driving!” he exclaims, trying to concentrate on the road and the SatNav, and avoid Harry’s wandering hands. “Boundaries, Jesus.”

“Says the one who squeezes my balls when you get bored!”

Louis barks out a laugh, because, yeah, that’s true and he can’t even deny it. “Least I wasn’t the one who pulled your trousers down on stage.”

“Git,” Harry says, but Louis knows it’s meant for Liam and not him and so he grins, wide and open and loving the banter with Harry that they can’t help but indulge in when they get together.

 

***

 

It’s a startling change when they enter the practice and Harry is almost silent, giving his name quietly to the receptionist and being directed straight through. The wonders of expensive private medical care, Louis thinks to himself, as he looks around the shiny clean corridors. He probably pays the same as Haz, honestly, but he doesn’t use it. Never needs to, really. He rarely gets sick apart from when he’s on the road, and Paul deals with the doctors then if they’re necessary.

“Mr Styles,” a female doctor greets him as they enter the room directed. She’s youngish, firm looking, to the point where Louis doesn’t feel the urge to take the piss out of the formal address.

“Louis Tomlinson,” he introduces himself when the woman doesn’t seem inclined to ask. He holds out a hand.

Firm shake. Good start.

Harry’s plonked himself down in a seat – plush, cushioned, Louis notes – and Louis joins him.

“I’m here for moral support,” Louis adds with a charming smile. Harry nods, next to him, and the doctor smiles, relaxing her stern expression.

“Dr Mumford,” she says, gesturing to herself. “Is there anything you’d like to discuss with me without Mr Tomlinson here, Mr Styles?” she asks, turning to Harry first. Louis can’t help the snort then, correcting her with a ‘It’s just Louis, please’.

She nods, but doesn’t move her gaze from Harry.

“Nah,” Harry says. “He can hear it all. I don’t mind.”

“Right then,” Dr Mumford says. She clicks away at her computer for a bit before pulling up the relevant documents. “Your curve was forty-six degrees last time, yes?”

Harry nods.

“And that’s the first time we’ve had it measured,” she continues. “It’s pretty severe as it is, but I am very concerned about the possibility of it getting worse. Are you still growing?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says slowly. Louis cocks his head, considering. “I don’t think so,” he adds. “But I started growing pretty late, about seventeen, so I’m not really sure.”

“Okay,” she says, noting something down. “There’s still a chance it could worsen, and the best option to prevent that at this stage is surgery. I know you don’t want it,” she adds pretty quickly when Harry opens his mouth, “but I want you to be aware of the options.”

“How will you know if it’s getting worse?” Louis asks curiously.

“We’ll keep X-raying it,” she answers with a smile at him. Louis decides he likes her. “I want to set up regular X-rays every month, and then if it does keep getting worse, we’ll need to have a very serious discussion, Mr Styles, about surgery.”

Harry nods, but Louis doesn’t think he’s even really listening. He takes the opportunity to ask the questions he wants – and Liam wants to know, too, because he’d demanded Louis report back to him afterwards.

“Does everyone get surgery?” Louis questions, grabbing Harry’s hand absently when the boy looks like he’s spacing out. It seems to ground him, a little.

Dr Mumford shakes her head. “We don’t recommend surgery for those with curves under forty five degrees,” she says. “Unless it’s getting worse very quickly, but even then we tend to use braces.”

“And Harry’s is over that,” Louis says, and the doctor confirms it briskly.

“I am reluctant to tell you that he must get surgery,” she admits afterwards. “It comes with a lot of risks, and it’s ultimately up to every individual patient. Some would rather live with the pain than chance the possible consequences of the op.”

“Like what?” Louis demands, then wonders if he should be writing this down because there’s no way he’ll remember it all for Liam.

“I could be paralysed,” Harry says lowly, and Louis feels his gut twist and he squeezes Harry’s hand tighter.

Dr Mumford looks sympathetic. “That’s a very low risk,” she tells Louis calmly, but he’s not comforted in the slightest. “There’s a chance, as there is in any spine operation, but it’s rare. The more common problems are that the op just doesn’t work properly, failing to fix the curve or stop it progressing. Around thirty percent of adult cases don’t achieve significant pain reduction, but this is being treated more as adolescent scoliosis, not adult, because you’re still potentially growing.”

“What else?” Louis wants to know.

“Around one in fifty cases develop an infection, but that’s easily treatable. Rarer still is blood clots, and in men there is a chance of retrograde ejaculation due to nerve damage-”

“I am almost one hundred per cent certain I don’t want to know,” Louis interrupts, and Harry lets out a startled laugh. Louis grins, pleased he’s cheered Harry up a little.

“It’s when the sperm goes into your bladder-” Harry begins, a teasing smile on his face.

“No, no, no,” Louis chants, covering his ears. “Not listening!”

Dr Mumford watches them fondly. “They’re the main risks,” she says once they stop giggling. “I’d recommend, Mr Styles, that you discuss your options with family and friends, as well as a counsellor before you decide. I’ll refer one to you who specialises in cases like this. It’s a big decision.”

“Not one I can make yet,” Harry points out, and he’s serious again, but Louis notes happily that at least he’s present, now, not drifting off to escape in his own head. “We’re on tour in a couple of months until the end of the year.”

Louis nods. “He won’t have time until 2015,” he agrees, and watches Mumford frown.

“Okay,” she says, considering. “That timeline is fine, it wouldn’t be much sooner normally anyway if we chart your curve over a few months and then I’d recommend you have some time to think, so that’s not a problem. My concern,” she adds slowly, “is that on tour you won’t be able to have regular appointments to check the angle. It’ll be hard to track it.”

Harry looks at Louis, who shrugs helplessly. He doesn’t know their schedule, has no idea when their breaks are or how much time off they have at different points.

“We’ll have time off,” Harry says to the doctor.

“Enough to fly back to England?” Louis asks out loud.

“Have to be,” Harry says.

“We’ll consider that sooner to the time, shall we?” Dr Mumford says. “For now, Mr Styles, I’d like to get you X-rayed again.”

Harry quickly gets dragged off to X-ray – no queues or waits, the wonders of private medical care all over again, and Louis stays where he is, texting Liam to see if he knows tour dates and amusing himself with the trashy magazines when Liam texts back a negative.

He looks up only when Harry renters the room, carrying his jumper over one arm and slumping back into the chair next to Louis.

“Did you know you were villain of the year, again?” Louis asks in amusement, waving the magazine at him. Harry utters a quiet laugh.

“Yeah, they notify me,” he answers, smirking. “I take it as a compliment.”

“Ahh, my poor evil genius Hazza,” Louis says, leaning over to ruffle up Harry’s hair with a grin. It’s a challenge considering he’s secured it with the ridiculous bandanas he has a million of, so Louis just slips it off.

“Get off!” Harry shrieks at him, trying to pull away, but Louis refuses to let him. He ends up half sprawled in Harry’s chair, Harry swatting at him wildly while Louis buries his head in Harry’s hair with a wide smile.

“But you have such beautiful hair,” Louis tells him cheerfully. A discrete cough lets him know Dr Mumford has re-entered the room, and Louis reluctantly draws back. Harry scowls at him, fiddling with his hair to make it presentable again. Louis subtly sticks his tongue out when he thinks the doctor isn’t looking.

“I’ll send you the details of the X-ray and a copy of it sometime this week, Mr Styles,” Dr Mumford says. “It would be a good idea to book another appointment for a month’s time, and then we can discuss procedure while you’re on tour and check the angle again.”

Harry nods. “Sounds good,” he agrees, and Louis is smug when he realises Harry is a little bit breathless from laughing.

“Is everything alright otherwise?” Dr Mumford checks. “Physio going okay? Medication strong enough?”

“Everything’s fine,” Harry says, and Louis thinks it’s a little bit of a lie but he doesn’t believe it’s anything the doctor can fix without far too many surgical knives and Harry’s very vulnerable spine.

“Good.” Dr Mumford stands up to shake their hands. “Any concerns, either of you, don’t hesitate to ring or pop in. There’s complete confidentiality here, rest assured.”

“I know,” Harry reassures her with a smile. “Thanks,” he adds.

Louis says his goodbyes too, and they wander out of the practice in comfortable silence.

“Your hair’s still a mess,” Louis remarks absently as they get into the car.

Harry swears, pulling down the mirror to check while Louis pisses himself in the driver’s seat.

“Joking, Hazza!”

 

***

 

It’s not really any different from before, now. Harry has stronger painkillers and a host of overprotective boyband members – and yes, Louis does include himself in there – to look after him, but things carry on as normal. Harry teases their techs and wins their hearts with his dimpled smile and wide-eyed attention, and Louis doesn’t sit back, can’t do that, but takes a little bit of time to admire the way Harry deals with it all.

“Are you scared?” he asks Harry one evening, two days before they’re due back for their next appointment. Harry looks up at him, head close and hair snuffling Louis’ chin. They’re curled on the sofa at Harry’s, idly watching a crappy film on TV for the two hours they have before they’ve agreed to meet Niall at the pub.

Harry doesn’t ask him to clarify. He shrugs. “A little,” he says. “But nothing’s changed just because it’s been labelled now.”

Louis nods quietly, breathing out and watching Harry’s hair be blown away from him. “I am,” Louis admits, and wonders whether Harry even hears to softly spoken words, because no verbal reply comes. Harry simply burrows deeper into his side and Louis shuts his eyes, imagining he can feel the beat of Harry’s heart next to him.

“Co-dependent,” people call them, and it’s maybe sort of true, even if they live apart now and Louis has El and Harry has– whichever girl he’s dating. They always come back to this, somehow, the two of them together against whatever threat to their happiness they’re facing, drawn together by an invisible string that makes them closer than brothers, platonic lovers, maybe, or simply two halves of a whole.

 

***

 

Harry has another X-ray before they go on tour, and the angle of his spine is slightly more, by a fraction of a degree, but it worries Dr Mumford and it worries Louis – and doesn’t seem to worry Harry in the slightest, and that’s maybe more concerning than anything else.

While Louis tries to decipher Harry’s mood, plans are made for arrangements on tour. Harry will carry on performing, like normal, taking painkillers when he must but struggling through shows even when his back is killing him-

-okay, Louis is a little upset by this, because Harry is worth more than any tour.

On their breaks, of which they have scarily few, Harry will fly back to London alone to attend his appointments and keep his doctor up to date with any problems. Harry grumbles at this, arguing that he’s always managed before perfectly fine, and really not much has changed, but Louis shoots him down.

“Better safe than sorry,” he tells Haz cheerfully, but maybe Harry sees the fractured worry hidden in his eyes because he gives in easily.

They’ll have a physiotherapist with them on tour, too, just as they did when Niall was having problems with his knee, except this one is a back specialist and has met with Harry already to discuss treatment plans.

It’s a lot of organising, and a lot of pouting on Harry’s part, but Louis feels a little bit more secure by the end that maybe this isn’t the life-changing revelation he thought it might be.

 

***

 

They’re over half way through the tour when Harry sits them all down for a band meeting and says, in a voice that’s calm despite the shocking words, “I want to take a break next year.”

There’s a pause. Louis doesn’t know what to say, what to think. A break? A permanent one?

“What?” Niall asks eventually, quietly, echoing all of their thoughts.

“Not, like, forever,” Harry hastens to explain. “But, I want this op. And I don’t think I can tour next year or anything as well.”

“So you want a year-long break from the band to heal,” Zayn surmises, and Harry nods. Louis breathes a sigh of relief. It makes a lot more sense than thinking Harry had had enough; he loves being on stage and performing perhaps more than any of them. He lights up when he’s singing, comes off after the performance almost shaking with the adrenaline and the post-show high.

“Okay,” Louis says. “Starting from when? Straight after tour? What about the album?”

“We could promo the new album then announce the break,” Liam suggests. “What about On The Road Again though? Postpone or wait until after?”

“I’d like,” Harry hesitates, “promo and then break. I don’t think- I think another tour will be- a bit, hard, for me? Like this isn’t going to get better on its own.”

Louis looks at him hard. Harry doesn’t show his pain much, doesn’t admit to the weakness he feels it is. “Too painful?” Louis says, clarifying, a challenge in his voice. He wants Harry to be honest with them all, for once.

Harry doesn’t look at any of them, but says, lowly, “Little bit,” and it’s enough to make all of them agree, Louis thinks. It must be bad for Harry to confess.

“So,” Zayn says, “we finish this tour, promo and release the new album, announce the postponement of the next tour, and then, what, take an entire year to ourselves?”

“Are we going to do anything else?” Niall checks. “Like, interviews, photoshoots, that sort of stuff? Or go the whole way?”

“I won’t be able to do a lot for at least three months,” Harry says honestly. “But after that, I don’t mind.”

“We should keep up with writing, I reckon,” Louis jumps in. “Not recording, just in our own time, like we already do.”

“That’s a good idea,” Liam agrees. “I think we should leave it with no PR stuff for the foreseeable future and then we can always renegotiate when Harry’s feeling better.”

Louis nods firmly. “Right, that’s the plan then. Shall we vote?” There’s scattered nods. “Raise your hand for the break,” he orders, and watches as all five of them lift their arms up. Harry’s wearing a small, relieved smile, and Louis is saddened to think he honestly thought the four of them would refuse him the operation he so desperately needed – and the time off after to recover.

“Great, sorted,” Niall declares loudly. “I’m starving, mate, can we go get dinner now?”

Liam starts to get to his feet. “I’ll join you,” he says. “We’ll talk to management tomorrow?” he checks, and Louis nods.

“Food now, management tomorrow,” he agrees, holding out a hand to help Harry up off the sofa.

“Thanks,” Harry says quietly as they start to walk out.

Louis shakes his head at him, throws a small but sincere smile. “Idiot,” he says affectionately, and Harry pinches his side in retaliation. It’s back to normal.

 

***

 

_Today brings huge news to the music world with the announcement of a year long break for One Direction, arguably the most popular boy band in the world at the present time. Starting from January, just after the release of their fourth album, the band will be stopping all touring, performing and public band appearances. This does, of course, mean that their worldwide tour, On The Road Again, will be postponed until 2016, with further updates as to dates to follow. The reason for this break? Well no one knows exactly. The boys themselves aren’t yet telling, just citing the need after ‘four fantastic but very hectic years’, but made sure to reassure all fans that they will be reappearing as soon as the year is up. We feel for you, boys, they certainly haven’t stopped so far for a breather. We wish them good luck and hope to see them re-emerge refreshed in 2016._

 

_***_

“I’ve got the date,” Harry announces down the phone to Louis, who hums whilst continuing the butter his toast in the kitchen. Eleanor’s in the next room, up for the weekend from Manchester. They’ve been on their break for two weeks now, and Louis can already feel the boredom creeping in. _It’s alright for Harry_ , he thinks bitterly. _He has his operation to take up half the year_. He feels bad for thinking that a moment later, because Harry may not be bored but he’ll be in a hell of a lot of pain.

“Date for what?” Louis asks, biting off some of his toast and turning to fill the kettle up and flick it on.

“My op,” Harry answers impatiently. “It’s set for the first week of February.”

Louis stops for a moment, checks the date on his phone, and takes a breath. “That’s not long,” he says quietly.

“No,” Harry replies. Louis doesn’t think he’s imagining the anxiety in his voice. “It might be cancelled last minute, though, if an emergency comes in.”

“Jesus,” Louis says. He puts his toast down and sits in one of the kitchen chairs. “Are you ready for it?”

“Well, I haven’t had all the blood work done yet, but yeah, everything else is pretty sorted,” Harry says. “My mum’s going to come up and stay with me afterwards ‘cause, like, I won’t be able to do anything for ages.”

“Not what I meant, Haz,” Louis tells him.

There’s a pause. “There’s a lot that can go wrong,” Harry says quietly, and that’s enough for Louis to understand that what he really is saying is, _I’m scared, I’m so scared._

Eleanor walks in then, touching him briefly on the arm as she gives him a concerned look. “Harry?” she mouths, and he nods. She smiles gently. “Let me talk to him?”

Louis looks at her. He trusts her. “Eleanor wants to talk to you, Haz,” he says, and gets Harry’s agreement before passing over the phone and pouring out the water from the kettle into a mug.

“Hey Harry,” he hears Eleanor say before she leaves the room. Eleanor is well aware of the reason behind their break, even if the rest of the world isn’t. They have yet to discuss going public about Harry’s operation, although all five of them know there isn’t a chance in hell of it staying quiet.

Placing the tea bag in the mug, he pours Eleanor some water out too and breathes in deep. _God_ , he thinks. _What a mess_.

 

***

 

They all gather together two nights before Harry’s due in hospital, clustered in Louis’ lounge with beers scattered across the floor and some crummy comedy playing on the wide screen TV. Harry’s in the centre of the mess, curled up against the sofa with the rest of them draping themselves around him like backing dancers, and the air is quiet and tense.

“When do you want us there?” Liam asks eventually, breaking the stillness.

Everyone knows what he means. Harry doesn’t look at them. “I’ll be in ICU for the first day,” he answers. “So that’s family only. But yeah, after that, come in whenever.”

“How long are you in hospital for?” Zayn checks, dark eyes fixed on the screen.

“About a week, I think.”

“We’ll be there,” Louis says firmly. “Private, right? Are there visiting hours?”

“Yeah, I’m in a private room, so I don’t think there’s strict hours – just, like, I’ll sleep a lot at first so maybe check with my mum before you come? She’ll be there most of the time.”

“And where are you again?” Liam asks, and Louis wants to laugh because he’s actually writing all this down, bless him. To be fair, Louis will be the one taking advantage of his organisation when he can’t remember where or when to visit Harry.

“Charing Cross,” Harry says.

“That’s big,” Zayn comments slowly. “Harry-”

“I know it’s going to come out,” Harry admits. “But it’s got a good private wing and one of the best orthopaedic surgeons there, and it’s local, too. My mum and Gemma, they can’t get to some of the other places so easily.”

“Are we going to comment at all, or just let speculation rise?” Niall wants to know. They’ve sort of touched upon this before, deciding not to let anyone know prior to the operation, but Harry’s been vague on what he wants to do _after_.

Harry shakes his head. “I don’t,” he stops. “I don’t think I want you to comment until I’m out of hospital and, like, can deal with it myself. But yeah, I know it won’t stay quiet.”

“What about us getting in? Have you spoken to the hospital? Fans will swarm it if they find out where you are,” Louis points out.

“They know,” Harry nods. “They’ve been really good about it. I’m going to have security outside my room and they’ll be ready with more guys out the front in they need to. You lot can come in around the back entrance, I think – my mum’s got the exact info.”

“Sounds good,” Liam agrees. “Hopefully it’ll stay relatively quiet; I mean, there is doctor-patient confidentiality, isn’t there?”

Harry shrugs. “I’ll tell the fans at some point,” he says. “But now, I just want it to be private. And in case anything goes wrong . . .”

Louis reaches to give him a hug. “It won’t,” he swears, but all of them are aware the words are an empty promise.

 

***

 

The day of Harry’s operation dawns bright and clear; the London skies are empty of clouds despite the chill in the air, and people slowly emerge from their rain-induced hibernation. Louis doesn’t bother getting dressed, instead just lazes around in his pyjamas as he watches the clock on the corner of BBC News shift onward. He won’t hear from Harry unless his operation is cancelled last minute – which shouldn’t, hopefully, happen apart from if there is a serious emergency his surgeon would need to prioritise over Harry. So Louis’ simply waiting for Anne to contact him when Harry’s out of surgery, and it’s nerve-wracking as hell.

Niall turns up around six o’clock, looking lazy in his trackies and hoodie, carrying some Chinese takeaway Tupperware’s.

“Alright, Lou?” he says as he makes his way inside. Louis smiles at him, knowing that Niall is probably even more anxious than him, always feeling things deeply. Zayn’s up with Perrie in the North, trailing along on her tour like a lost puppy, and Liam’s visiting family in Wolverhampton. Louis and Niall are the only two masochistic enough to hang around in London waiting for news.

“Alright,” Louis answers warmly. “Did ya pick up sweet and sour by any chance? I’m craving it.”

Niall dumps the containers in the kitchen and they both start flicking through.

“I got, um, satay chicken, prawn crackers, think I had sweet and sour somewhere-”

“Found it,” Louis confirms, taking off the lid and dipping his finger into the sauce. “Hmm, that’s good,” he moans.

Both of their phones chose that moment to vibrate, almost simultaneously. They look at each other for a split second, before Louis grabs his phone swiftly and flicks in the pass code.

“What’s it say?” Niall demands, leaning forward to try and see. “Is it Anne? Is he okay?”

Louis reads it quickly and sighs with relief. “Anne says he’s out of surgery. Everything went well and he’s just come round. He’s very groggy but will be moved out of ICU by the morning and then we can see him.”

“Thank fuck,” Niall says, and there is a faint glistening wetness to his eyes. He sinks into a kitchen chair. “He’ll be okay then?”

“Hopefully,” Louis says, joining him at the table. He runs a hand over his face. “Guess the worst is over.”

“Long recovery,” Niall says quietly.

“Yeah,” Louis agrees. But at least he survived the op.

 

***

 

 _Are we alright to visit today?_ Louis texts Anne the next morning. Niall’s over again, stealing all of his food as per usual and providing an optimistic view of the world. It’s sort of refreshing, when it’s not annoying.

 _Course you are, love_ , she sends back. _He’s not very awake though_.

_Me and Niall are going to come in anyway. The others aren’t back yet._

_I’ll see you soon then_ , Anne texts, and Louis gets up to yell at Niall.

 

***

 

They sneak into the hospital through the back entrance, met at the doors by a pair of hospital security guards who swiftly show them the quickest route through to Harry’s room. There’s no sign of fans yet, no whispers in the papers about Harry, and they’re hoping it’ll stay that way for a little while longer.

“Is he awake?” Niall asks as they are shuffled towards his room. Louis looks at his phone and checks for new messages from Anne.

“No idea,” he says honestly. “We can give Anne a break anyway.”

“Yeah,” replies Niall, and they fall silent, walking purposefully down the white-washed walls, hoping beyond belief that they don’t meet anyone that may recognise them.

“Harry Styles,” Louis says when they reach the desk of the private ward. The nurse glances up at them, obviously already briefed on their famous patient because she doesn’t seem surprised to see them.

“Room 132,” she says professionally. “Would you like me to show you the way?”

“Please,” Niall says with a cheerful smile, and the nurse lets her lips twitch upwards to match. “Is he okay?”

“I’m only allowed to give out information on Mr Styles to family, I’m afraid,” the nurse says, marching off, with the two of them and their security following.

“We are family,” Louis mutters, indignant, but he lets it go. Anne will update them, he’s sure.

The room’s at the end of the corridor and the door is tilted slightly open. There’s no noise coming from inside but Louis can just see the outline of Anne around the corner, and he knocks quietly on the door when the nurse leaves them in peace. He can see Anne getting up and waits for her to come to the door.

“Hey, boys,” she says softly. “Thanks for coming.”

“We’re not going to let him get bored,” Niall says with a grin, but he keeps the volume low too. “He asleep?”

Anne nods. “Yeah,” she confirms. “And he’s picked up a minor chest infection too while he’s here, so he’s on a lot of medication right now. I don’t know how coherent he’ll be even if he does wake up while you’re here.”

Louis bites his lip. He’s kind of been thinking that the worst was over with the operation, but he didn’t really factor in the stuff that can go wrong _after_ surgery. He doesn’t like the anxiety that rears in his head, and tries to shake it away.

“But he’ll be okay?” Niall is checking, and Louis brings himself back to watch Anne’s face. There’s no hint of deceit there.

“He’ll be fine with time,” she promises. “I’m going to grab some lunch if you don’t mind, boys? I’ll leave you to it.”

“Go,” Louis tells her gently. “Have a break; we’ve got him.”

“See you later then,” she says, and grabs her bag and leaves, rolling her shoulders as she goes. Niall is already heading into the room, and Louis follows suit. He immediately needs to sit down and does so, taking one of the soft chairs next to the bed.

Harry looks small, is the thing. Small, tired, and sick. He’s got oxygen flooding into his nose and IVs in his arms, and his eyes are shut tight. His chest is covered with a blanket but Louis doubts they would be able to see any wound anyway.

“Damn,” Niall says, taking the other chair. Louis reaches out to run a hand over Harry’s outstretched arm, taking care to avoid the tubes. He’s warm and soft and it’s reassuring.

“Yeah,” is all he says in reply.

“Like, I know I probably looked like this after my surgery,” Niall continues, “but it’s king of different when you see it on someone else, isn’t it? Like, God, he looks like shit.”

“He just had major surgery,” Louis says with a quiet laugh, thankful for Niall’s cheering techniques.

“Yeah, but some blusher wouldn’t go amiss,” Niall adds. “And someone needs to take a brush to that hair. Maybe we should get Lou in.”

“If you can’t look like shit in hospital when can you?” Louis asks rhetorically. “It’s not like anyone’s taking photos.”

Unspoken is the simple phrase, _we hope_.

Niall blazes on. “I could shove one on Instagram,” he muses. “Or maybe just use it for blackmail later.”

“Harry has no shame,” Louis points out with a laugh.

“Could blackmail PR maybe,” is his next idea.

“Mate, don’t you already do that?”

“True, that,” Niall says with a sigh. “Damn.”

There’s a few moments of silence. “This sucks,” Louis says eventually.

Niall nods. Harry’s slight raspy breathing keeps them company. “He’ll be okay though,” Niall says.

 _We hope_ echoes again in the still room. They don’t mention it.

 

***

 

Two days later and Harry’s chest infection clears up. They have yet to visit when he’s actually awake, always seeming to catch him at the wrong times. Zayn’s been as well by now, but Liam is still in Wolverhampton. They all get regular updates from Anne and Gemma, who alternate shifts next to Harry’s bedside.

 _Walking today_ , Anne sends two days after the surgery. _I don’t want to know which one of you taught him those swear words._

 _Baby brother has some vocab on him_ , is the accompanying text from Gemma.

Louis laughs aloud in his empty flat.

 

***

 

On the fifth day, all four of them go and visit Harry again. They let Anne know, and she and Gemma clear out well in advance so that Harry has time for a rest before they all get there. Liam’s back in London finally, and they decide to make a trip of it, stopping off in a petrol station to pick up some food, with Niall running in as quickly as possible while the other hide. It’s a risk, all going out together, but one that they decided they wanted to take. They’re family, the five of them, and they haven’t all been together for a while.

They sneak into Harry’s room quietly, unsure whether he’s awake or not.

“Hey,” comes a low, rough voice, and Louis can’t help the smile that breaks out.

“Haz,” he says, and hears the rest of them utter similar greetings, scrunching up around his bed. Harry looks tired still, and he seems to be keeping himself as motionless as possible, but he’s _awake_ , and talking, and it’s a bit of a miracle. He’s skinny too – Louis’ heard how hard it has been to get Harry to eat when he’s in pain and ill and tired.

“How are you doing?” Liam asks carefully as they all position themselves in seats.

Harry smiles, a small worn smile that isn’t massively comforting. “I’m okay,” he says.

“Honestly,” Louis demands a split second later.

Harry tries for what seems to be a shrug, but stops as soon as he does, wincing and wrinkling his face in pain. “Hurts,” he says.

“Yeah,” Zayn says. “I can imagine.”

“Are you moving yet? When do you get to leave?” Niall jumps in,

“Not really,” Harry answers. “They get me up to walk and shower and stuff but, like, it’s not easy. And the plan is for me to go home tomorrow evening, if I can.”

“That soon?” Louis asks, surprised. That’ll make it six days post op.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Unfortunately.”

“Huh?” Liam makes a confused face. “Don’t you want to leave?”

Harry smiles again, lifting a hand weakly. “Morphine pump,” he explains. “They’re weaning me off it because I won’t have it when I go home. It’s going to suck.”

“That’s sick,” Zayn mutters, leaning closer to have a look.

“What’ll you do when you leave then?” Liam wants to know. “Oral morphine?”

Harry shakes his head slightly, slowly. “Nah,” he answers easily. “Paracetamol, ibuprofen and tramadol, I think. No morphine.” He pulls off a typical Harry pout, and Louis laughs, glad to see Harry’s personality seeping through the pain.

“We brought you some magazines,” Niall says then, holding up the bag. “And some chocolate, and a small thing of vodka for when you’re feeling better.”

Harry laughs genuinely at that. “Morphine and vodka?” he says incredulous.

“Vodka when you’re off painkillers,” Liam says firmly. “Gives you something to aim for.”

“Thanks guys.” Harry grins. “Show me the magazines, then? I don’t want to move.”

Niall grabs one out of the bag, laughing with Harry when he shows him the big _Hello!_ written on the front cover. They all alternate between reading and showing Harry the photos, taking the piss out of the poor reporting. They pass a happy afternoon like that, hanging around long after Harry falls asleep again and leaving only when a nurse suggests they do, so that Harry can get some proper rest.

 

***

 

On the day Harry is supposed to be coming home, the press discover where he is.

 

***

 

Whether it was a fan or a nurse or doctor, they don’t know. Louis blames themselves for visiting together, sure they attracted too much attention and someone put two-and-two together. The media don’t know what Harry’s in hospital for yet which is a relief, but they all know it won’t be long. PR have been on the phone, insisting none of them go in that day; apparently there are fans outside the hospital already.

Louis feels torn.

 _I know you said no statement until after_ , he texts to Harry _, but I think we need to ask the fans to leave._

 _It won’t work_ , Harry sends back.

_It might. They’re interfering with the hospital. They need to clear._

_I know._ Harry texts back. Louis waits for the inevitable continuation. _I’ll tweet something_ , he says eventually.

 

***

 

@Harry_Styles: Thanks for all the well wishes, I’m doing well. Would some of you mind waiting out of the way of the hospital? It’s very hard for people to get in otherwise. Thanks xx

 

***

 

Niall seems to take that as a chance to get his say in too, and Louis reads his message with a smile. Typical Niall.

@NiallOfficial: You know we love all of you guys! Thanks everyone for the support, we appreciate it! But the hospital does need some space to work, and we don’t want to get in the way!

@NiallOfficial: So if you don’t mind moving slightly so you don’t block the way? Would be appreciated! Thanks again guys, we’ll see you soon!

 

***

 

“Do you know if Haz is coming home today anyway?” Liam asks from the other end of the phone. Louis balances the phone between his shoulder and ear before cursing and shoving it on speakerphone.

“Not a clue,” he answers, grabbing his toast out of the toaster and picking up a knife. “Have you heard from Anne?”

“Nope,” Liam says with a pop of the ‘p’. “Don’t imagine he’d want to.”

Louis shrugs, forgetting Liam can’t see him. “But it won’t get any better if he waits,” he points out. “I’ll text her, see what she says.”

“One of us should go meet him,” Liam agrees. “Screw PR.”

“I’ll go,” Louis volunteers instantly. “Anne’s done so much, we can take over for a while.”

Liam doesn’t say anything for a while, and Louis sighs. “What?” he demands.

“If you two get spotted,” Liam says hesitantly, and Louis knows what he’s getting at.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he says, but he does see Liam’s point.

“The last thing Harry needs now is more Larry Stylinson rumours,” Liam continues. “One of us will go. You can meet us at his house or something.”

“Bloody rumours,” Louis mutters. He hates them. Not because he’s homophobic, no, but because they’re the reason they’ve had to be so careful in public. Because no matter what they’re doing, a sexuality that neither identifies with is shoved on them. Because it insults Eleanor, means she receives constant rude accusations and threats. Because it means they’re both so conscious of every little move they make, fully aware of how it’ll be picked over online later. Neither likes to live like that.

“Text Anne and let me know if one of us needs to go and meet them, if he’s coming home,” Liam orders, and Louis agrees before hanging off.

 

***

 

Harry does come home that day, sneaking out of the back without being seen. Niall goes to meet him while Louis lets himself into Harry’s house, making sure there are fresh sheets and the bedroom is clean. They arrive home not long after, and Louis goes to meet them at the door.

Harry’s scarily pale, almost shaking, and Anne ushers him through to the bedroom without even a hello. Niall follows them in and shuts the door.

“Car journey was bad,” Niall explains in response to Louis’ look. “The jolts, having to sit upright . . . Really bad for him.”

“Shit,” Louis says, and they both head towards the bedroom in time to see Anne kiss Harry on the forehead, his eyes tightly scrunched and pain visible in every line of his face.

“Has he had the painkiller?” Niall asks quietly, and Anne nods.

“Let him sleep,” she says, and Louis backs out of the room.

“Tea?” he offers, even though it is not his flat.

“Please,” Anne says, sitting down on the sofa.

“I’ll help,” Niall offers, and they traipse to the kitchen.

They start making the tea in silence, searching out Harry’s mugs and tea bags while Anne rests.

“She doesn’t want him left alone,” Niall says at one point, low enough that Anne hopefully couldn’t hear.

“I don’t blame her,” Louis responds, remembering Harry’s drawn look and pain.

“I said we’d do shifts,” Niall explains. “At least for the first few days, with someone sleeping here. She can’t stay forever.”

Louis nods. It’s a good idea. From what he’s seen and heard, Harry can barely do anything himself and he is going to need supervision to give him painkillers, cook food, help him move from bed to sofa and back again. Anne has a life in Cheshire and she can’t look after him the whole time; nor should she have to. None of them have anything pressing, having taken a year off work, so they have no reason not to.

Louis doesn’t think he really wants to tear himself away from Harry anyway.

 

***

 

Between the three of them, and numerous texts to Liam and Zayn, they get a rough schedule worked out. They also make sure there are clear instructions as to Harry’s medication dosages and follow up appointments at Harry’s normal GP surgery.

“Harry’s not going to be impressed when he wakes up,” Niall says at one point with a grin, and Anne and Louis exchange looks.

“He’ll have to suck it up,” Louis says, knowing just as well as Niall that Harry will think it’s far too much fuss.

 

***

 

Anne takes the first day, and Louis and Niall head off home. When it’s Louis’ and Zayn’s turn the next day, Louis is strangely nervous. He doesn’t know how shit Harry’s going to be feeling or whether he’ll want to talk or yell or just sleep all day.

 _Don’t be stupid_ , he tells himself. The five of them have practically lived together for over four years now.

Harry’s awake when they get in, and Anne chats only briefly before heading out, driving home to Cheshire for a few days to sort some things out and take a break.

“Hey, Hazza,” Louis can hear Zayn say as he heads into the living room. Harry’s lying flat on his back on the sofa, spread out with his hair curled wildly around his head like a halo. He looks young and tired and seriously skinny. It’s scary.

“Hey, Haz,” Louis says as he approaches behind Zayn. Harry turns to look at him and smiles. Top Gear’s on TV in front of them, but Harry doesn’t seem to be watching.

“You my babysitters today?” Harry asks jokingly, looking at the two of them.

“Your own personal housekeeping service,” Zayn corrects with a smile, sweeping Harry’s fringe out of the way of his eyes.

“You alright?” Louis checks, waiting for confirmation before carefully taking a seat on the sofa, trying not to let his weight disturb Harry.

“How are the fans?” Harry asks, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. Louis grimaces sympathetically. It’s only ten o’clock, but Anne had said Harry has trouble sleeping in because the painkillers wear off overnight and he can’t avoid jolting his back when he sleeps.

“Still crying,” Zayn says, not really paying attention.

“Over what?” Harry frowns, face adorably concerned.

Louis smiles. “They’re not really,” he says. “But there’s still loads of speculation,” he adds. “People know you’re out of hospital by now.”

“Someone guessed your back, I think,” Zayn pipes in. “Most are thinking, like, pneumonia or drugs or something.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, “apparently you’re an addict.”

They’re mostly joking, although that rumour had cropped up a couple of times, but Harry’s looking increasingly upset.

“Relax, Haz,” Zayn tells him. “It doesn’t matter what people think.”

“I’ll tell them soon,” Harry says, but he won’t tell them how or when and they both drop the subject.

 

***

 

“Lunch time,” Louis announces a couple of hours later, brandishing a plate of food – sandwiches, because Louis’ culinary expertise doesn’t stretch any further – and a glass of water. Encouraging Harry to put weight back on is a number one priority.

Harry sighs heavily, and Louis puts the food down on the coffee table. He and Zayn watch as Harry struggles to push himself into a seating position, pain tight across his face and biting his lip. Anne has already informed them that Harry will revolt if people try and help.

Harry’s white when he’s finally sitting straight, and Louis hands him the food quickly. He’ll sit for only about ten minutes, they’ve been informed, and that’s it. He’s barely finished half when he goes so pale they push him to take a break, carefully helping him lie down flat again and watching as he shuts his eyes, controlling his breathing.

“It hurts to sit,” Harry says quietly a little while later, when the tense lines of his body are starting to relax again. Louis’ heart clenches in sympathy. He can’t imagine what it’s like to be in pain every moment of the day.

“Yeah,” Zayn says.

“When you sit, like, your spine has to support you entirely,” Harry continues, “and mine won’t.”

Louis nods, lets quiet fall. “The surgery,” he says after a while, “it was successful, wasn’t it? I mean, your back will be better now, yeah?”

“They think so,” Harry answers, still with his eyes closed. “I’ve got titanium rods in my spine now, keeping it straight.”

“Sounds nasty,” Zayn comments, and Harry laughs a little.

“Airport security will be a nightmare,” he agrees, and Louis can picture it now, beeping scanners everywhere, every time they try and fly through a commercial airport. He laughs despite himself.

“You’ll be like an X-Men,” Louis says. “Maybe you’ll learn to fly; that’ll be cool.”

“Got to be able to walk again first,” Harry says, and the mood falls again a bit. Maybe Harry senses that, because he adds, “maybe I’ll just skip that bit. Who needs to walk when you can fly?”

“Might hit a few walls,” Zayn points out, leaning against the back of the sofa.

“Can’t be that hard to steer,” Louis muses. “Do you, like, tilt? Or use your arms? I don’t know.”

“Look it up,” Harry demands, and it’s a testament to how much they’re trying to keep the mood cheerful that neither mention how no one actually knows since, you know, no one can actually _fly_.

Instead, Louis unlocks his IPhone and googles how to steer when you fly. “Comes up with how to fly an airplane,” he says, a little disappointed.

“Maybe I’ll just do that,” Harry says, and Louis notices that he is tensing up again, shifting a little as his discomfort obviously increases. Louis glances at the time and sees Zayn doing the same.

“Painkiller time, you reckon?” Zayn asks. Louis nods, and Zayn gets up to grab the Ibuprofen, the right one on the schedule.

“You alright?” Louis checks, and Harry nods.

“Feels a little like someone’s punched me all over my chest,” he explains quietly after a moment. “From, like, here to here,” he gestures from his neck down to his trouser line. “It aches.”

“Sounds rough,” Louis agrees, and feels useless.

“They had to realign my ribcage, too,” Harry adds. “That was twisted as well. So my front hurts just as much as my spine.”

Louis winces in sympathy. It sounds so brutal when described like that, when he imagines mask-covered surgeons drilling and securing metal rods into Harry’s spine, yanking his ribcage back into place, artists with metal sculptures instead of delicate paintbrushes.

“The X-Rays are on my phone if you want to see,” Harry tells him, and Louis gets the feeling Harry’s speaking only to distract himself. He grabs the phone anyway, enters what he vaguely remembers to be Harry’s passcode, and flicks to the album.

Zayn comes over just then, an angel with two small tablets and a glass of water. Harry pushes himself up slowly, resting his back against the sofa, and swallows the tablets dry before drinking the water. He lets himself down slowly, closing his eyes again.

Louis finds the X-Rays eventually, and raises his eyebrows in surprise. “That’s amazing,” he says, showing them to Zayn. “Look at the difference in shape.”

He kind of knew, before, that Harry’s spine was curved out of shape, but to see it in black and white, and then to see it after, with rods either side but now almost completely _straight_ , it really hits him.

“It’s straight,” Harry says, a pleased tone in his voice.

“That’s wicked,” Zayn murmurs. “Is that permanent, now? Will those rods stay in forever?”

“Yep,” Harry confirms. “Should do.”

“Cool,” Zayn says.

They chatter idly for a while longer, but Harry’s responses start coming slower and slower, his lips barely moving as he talks. The painkillers send him to sleep not long afterwards, and they leave him to rest peacefully on the sofa and move into the kitchen.

“He’s doing well,” Zayn comments, and Louis nods, looking fondly at their bandmate, sleeping peacefully on the sofa.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

 

***

 

The first thing Louis knows about Harry’s announcement is when his phone beeps with a notification from Harry’s Twitter account. It’s Niall and Liam’s day to spend with Harry, and Louis is Skyping with Eleanor.

“Two secs, El,” he says, looking down at his phone. “Shit,” he mutters a moment later.

“What?” Eleanor demands, and Louis lifts up his phone to show her with a smile.

_@Harry_Styles: Thank you for all of your support while I’ve been in hospital. I was having a major operation on my spine for a condition called scoliosis._

_@Harry_Styles: I’m much better now and should be good as new for our tour next year. In the meantime, privacy while I heal would be great. Thanks xx_

Attached to the two tweets are both the X-Rays and a photo of Harry’s back, presumably taken at the doctor’s that morning, showing a red inflamed scar running straight down his back, tracing the route of his spine. His skinniness is easy to see, and Louis thinks his tweets may well do the opposite of reassuring the fans.

 

***

 

The world erupts. _GetWellHarry_ and _Scoliosis_ trends worldwide for nearly a whole day. The next one is _SmileHarry_ , and then a day later, _HarryPostASelfie_.

Harry doesn’t. Harry never does. Instead, Louis watches as Harry instagrams a picture of his feet, one sock on and one off, and caption it, _Cold Foot._

“What the fuck is the point of that?” Louis moans, despairing of his wild and weird bandmate. It’s even more annoying when the next worldwide trend is _BuyHarryMoreSocks_.

“Why, for the love of God, why,” Louis says. Harry doesn’t answer, just grins.

 

***

 

Harry slowly improves, and they all breathe a sigh of relief. They start leaving Harry on his own for a bit, and people outside of the band go around to visit. Louis has the uncomfortable experience of letting Grimshaw and his mate, Aimee, he thinks, in when he’s keeping Harry company one evening and is not impressed with the lack of notice.

“Hello, Grimshaw,” he says, and watches as the man smiles pleasantly at him. Alright, so they get on okay. Twitter feuds are just fun, no matter how much Harry yells at him for it.

“Tomlinson,” he replies, and Louis begrudgingly steps to the side to let him in.

“He’s on the sofa,” he says. “Don’t let him move off it. And call me if he needs anything or if he’s in pain. And he may fall asleep on you; he does that a lot.”

“Grimmy,” Harry calls from the other room.

Nick nods firmly at Louis, and Aimee smiles. “Such a mother,” the American tells him laughingly, and Louis contemplates shutting them out again.

“Come through,” Harry yells again, and Louis sighs and gives up, retreating to his temporary room.

 

***

 

Harry’s first public outing is with Gemma, two months after his operation. He’s fairly functional, now, moving around and walking and down to only paracetamol every so often. He struggles with sitting without a back rest, and he can’t do anything more than walk for short periods, but it’s such a massive change that none of them care.

They get spotted, typically, and that’s how Louis finds out. Liam sends him a link over WhatsApp to an article on SugarScape. Harry’s posing with a young fan, a can of soup under one arm, halfway down a supermarket aisle. This is what Louis doesn’t get. They’re celebrities, but they’re still people, and when they’re food shopping in Waitrose do they really have to be photographed? Still, the photo fulfils its purpose in reassuring people that Harry is alive and well, having not been seen in public for the last two months.

 

***

 

_Yes that’s right. Harry Styles is alive, out and about again, and still as hot as ever. Spotted today by an eager-eyed fan in Waitrose not far from his house, Harry posed for a photo and hug before heading home with his sister. Reports are that he was looking healthy and cheerful, showing little signs of his surgery. Shame. SugarScape tried so hard to be his private nurse. No takers, unfortunately, and now it seems Hazza’s well enough not to need one._

_Well, we’re glad he’s feeling better, anyway, and we hope to see his gorgeous face around a bit more now._

_Take a look at the pic below and comment. Is Hazza looking healthy again?_

 

_***_

It’s their first concert back after their break. The stadium’s filled, a huge weight off their shoulders. They’d been made well aware before they took the year out that a year was a long time in the music industry, and that fans may be lost. They seem to have been lucky though, and all five of them feel on top of the world again.

“I’ve missed this,” Louis says to Liam, talking directly into his ear. He looks around at the sea of faces and lights, feels the energy in the air and the thrum of the beat beneath his feet, and laughs, throwing his head back far.

“We all have,” Liam agrees, and they grab their mics again just in time to pour their voices into the lyrics in a move that is so instinctive by now.

Out of the corner of his eye, Louis sees Harry spot a poster in the crowd. Louis squints, tries to read it. It’s a drawing of a spine, he thinks, and next to it the words _Bent But Not Broken._ Below that, even smaller, is _Harry We’ll Be Your Backbone_.

Louis grins back at Harry, hears the laughter fill the stadium as Harry proclaims his love for it to them all – to their world, these random people who they won’t ever know but who share this magical night with them.

“Thank you,” Harry is saying, and Louis thinks _,_ no matter what happens, that Harry will never need a backbone when he has this, the music and the fans and the band, the five of them together. They’re enough for a lifetime – and maybe his titanium rods, too, to be safe.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The vodka thing happened to my friend, by the way. A family friend - middle aged, kids of their own - decided a bottle of vodka was a great thing to give someone on strong painkillers. It made a good laugh anyway.  
> Thanks for reading. Please take time to give my your thoughts, either here or come visit me on [Tumblr](http://chase4dreams.tumblr.com/)


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